


Drive me mad

by hazk



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationship, Retrospective, Season/Series 15, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/pseuds/hazk
Summary: The plans are dumb, but there is a level of reasoning behind each of them – just not the kind that Simmons is a fan of.





	1. Home vs. Moon

Many common agreements led to the idea of an escape to the moon, to get their peace and avoid being involved in the legal complications Chorus’ talks with the UNSC must end up having.

With that decided, and the long trip now behind them, their retirement began with silence.

Not that the Reds and Blues were capable to shutting their mouths and not messing everything up, but there was a difference to how things used to be: mainly because the one person you actually wanted to speak with was avoiding you.

Or, more than likely, you were the one avoiding him.

It had been unclear what was happening between them for quite some time now, the only facts being that Simmons was getting close to losing his mind while Grif didn't appear to care in the least.

The deal made by the Reds and Blues had been to not talk about what happened after the battle on the _Staff of Charon_ , which included everything regarding Church unless agreed upon by everyone – not to avoid the reality of his sacrifice, but to protect the mood surrounding the group – and, of course, the Temple of Procreation.

And that was the problem.

Some of them were more determined to keep up with the latter part of the deal and Simmons hated the implication, full well knowing the only two with an issue were the ones keeping their end of the pact.

Simmons knew it couldn't last forever – his sanity sure didn't 

 

* * *

 

This has to be heaven to Grif, Simmons had thought with a frown as he watched the man in question enter one of their new luxury bases for the first time. Funnily enough, it was that exact line of thinking that then made them move past the awkwardness to get back to the way things used to be - or close enough to it at least. 

Surprisingly or not, their shared denial lasted only for a day once the ships had landed to their new home.

It had been way longer since the incident they were – _he was?_ – avoiding though, but at least before Kimball had sent them down here he had had plenty of other things to worry about without paying all that much attention to how strained their relationship had become. And with that in mind, Simmons willed himself to ignore all about how little time it actually took to move past it, considering how well that one day on the moon had fucked him over.

It was embarrassing, and the only comfort was how Grif didn't show any signs of smugness over being approached by Simmons when it finally happened. The chance to get back to normal was a relief to the both of them.

But now, with the two of them talking, there was no mention of what had led to the avoidance in the first place, or acknowledgement of what had followed – just Grif and Simmons, falling to their familiar roles and banter instead of facing reality.

It wasn’t exactly a good thing, but Simmons took what he could get to avoid any further embarrassments. If it ever became a problem, he could worry about it then.

 

* * *

 

“Heaven? Really, Simmons? If you think my idea of heaven involves any of _these guys_ ”, Grif scoffed and nodded towards the rest of the Reds and Blues still working out the division of the bases, as if there was anything there up for debate, “you don’t know me at all. Disappointing.”

Simmons nodded slowly and grimaced, watching Donut gush over the furniture Kimball had sent along with them.

“I see your point… But it's not like this can last forever! We just need to avoid the aftermath of the civil war for a while longer and then we can… go home, for real this time”, Simmons said, the words foreign on his tongue.

Grif looked at him then and Simmons didn’t like the way his brow twitched.

Blink and you’ll miss it, Grif’s expression became drawn before he shook his head and turned to walk away.

“Yeah. Better enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a few prompts I didn’t have time for during the Fluff Week: Red Team bonding, the first days of their stay on the moon, and settling down to their new routines – but focusing on Grif & Simmons in light of Season 15.


	2. War vs. Solitude

“Whatever this is, it can’t... work out.”

“You don’t sound so sure”, Grif pointed out as he pulled at the rope. “I will take my chances.”

Simmons glared at him, shaking his head disapprovingly as he crossed his arms. There was no way he wasn’t sure, of course he was, this had to be a stupid idea and see if the cared if it – _when it_ – blew up in Grif’s face.

As always, Grif didn’t seem to mind his obvious dislike over the situation, instead having dragged Simmons across the yard to get someone there to witness his masterplan. Once he had brought the cyborg that far and given up on the effort to fight him any further, Simmons had only followed him upstairs due to his natural curiosity, wanting to know just what Grif was so determined to pull off even when he was finally given the chance to relax. On any other day, Grif would have been long gone by now to avoid the others settling in to their newly found routines.

Simmons still hadn’t gotten any answers to his actual questions about “the plan”, but all he had to say when he looked at the ropes Grif had tied together was: “I don’t want to be here when whatever this is begins to fall apart.”

At Simmons’ comment, Grif turned to him with a smirk on his face. “But you will be.”

Simmons squinted, unfamiliar with the look Grif was giving him, and took a step back.

“...You are admitting it will break.”

“What, no!” Grif huffed. “There’s nothing _to break_! Just saying, you want to see how this turns out – you won’t leave.”

“...alright, with that I am certain: I really don't want to know what you are planning!”

“Simmons… Quit being a bitch.” The overly confident look taking over Grif's features was enough to get Simmons to back away further, making him more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. “This is perfect.”

“I don’t –“

Simmons paused in his retreat just as his words came to a full stop as well, finally seeing the sheet Grif pulled out of the box in the corner of the room. The sight made him gulp as he glanced between the sheet and Grif in a mixture of utter confusion and terror.

The Red Flag would be nothing but trouble, its power destructive and not for Grif to wield.

 

* * *

 

Seeing the flag, Simmons’ one question was a slowly spoken, strained: “ _Why?”_

“No clue who send it here with us”, Grif said lightheartedly, lifting the cursed item a little higher and then unfolding it with a small wave, “but I doubt they realised just how bad of an idea it was.”

“But why, why are you –?!”

“You have seen how Sarge is, really beginning to piss me off. Saying he’s ‘ _depressed for not dying_ ’ doesn’t promise anything good in _my future_.” Grif tied the corners of the flag to the ropes he had connected to the back of the room and then took the flag closer to the window next to him.

“What? We have been here for just a few days and you have been fine with him for years! What’s the point –!“

“I have never been fine with any of it, and seriously? We already divided ourselves by Red and Blue and, even if we now pretend to be neighbours or something, we both know it won’t last for long. Giving Sarge something to protect from the start, however... Well, it's obvious that keeping him predictable will increase my chances of survival in his place, so, let him fight the Blues for all I care.”

Simmons began to pace back and forth, confusion rising. “To protect...? W-wait, you know he will just pull us in it if he gets obsessed with this all over again! You are the last one to want that, aren’t you?”

“Pull _you_ in, and knowing you I'd say that's what you prefer anyway”, Grif corrected and offered the other end of the red sheet to Simmons. “I will be long gone by then, no difference there."

Grif looked at him with his brow raised and Simmons stalled, biting his lip as he tried to comprehend the words he was hearing.

The moment passed.

“...okay”, was all Simmons had to say to the logic, out of shock more than anything else.

Due to the same, dumbfound curiosity that had brought him here earlier, Simmons accepted the flag offered to him and helped Grif throw it out the window upstairs, hurrying outside to see it hang over the front of the tall building that was now officially the Red Base, no longer marked with a mere red line over the doorway.

 

* * *

 

Simmons decided to consider himself lucky when it was Washington who saw the flag first.

At the time, Grif had already split from the scene and Simmons, who attempted to stay out of it but was still too interested to see what would happen to go too far – _damn Grif for knowing him all too well_ – was the only one around to witness how Wash tensed at the sight.

The Red Flag fluttered slightly in the breeze and Simmons could practically hear the way Wash swallowed down a gasp. The Freelancer spun his head around, looking over the yard and then locking eyes with Simmons who stood further behind him, not too well hidden in the wide open space.

Another thing to feel lucky about was how Wash seemed to immediately deem Simmons’ presence not worth his time, turning on his feet and running towards the entrance to the Red Base – to tear down the flag no doubt, long before Sarge could show up in midst of the act of blasphemy and get any ideas.

Simmons hummed, deep in thought and wondering just what Grif had expected to happen.

With the two “bases” side by side, another war wouldn’t end well. Not with the rules they played by, at least.

“Something to protect, huh...”

 


	3. Team-up vs. Rivalry

“So... How’s Carolina holding up?”

“She’s beginning to stress me out, not ideal”, Grif replied with a yawn as Simmons walked up to adjust the parasol he planned to sit underneath of - the last thing he needed in his life right now was to deal with any sunburns.

Even without the heat of the desert, the sun here was too bright and getting out of the armour at any given chance a necessity, as long as you did it when safely out of Caboose's view. No one had forgotten the many incidents with the nail guns the Blue had somehow gotten a hold of, least of all thanks to all the comments Donut still made of the various ways he got nailed and not minding the breeze after, Simmons recalled with a shudder.

Although it was brave, in the most disturbing of ways and to the others’ great discomfort, for Donut to risk everything to prance around naked on most days even now.

“...But you’re still, uh, helping her out?”

“Not gonna say no again, she’ll give up sooner than later. Way easier”, Grif huffed out and leaned further back into his seat. He clearly had no intention to go against Carolina head-on as far as he could help it, understandably so - even if it was in regards to the philosophy of relaxation. “What have you been doing?”

“There’s nothing _to do_ , you have made that perfectly clear by now...” Simmons replied sullenly and closed his eyes as well.

Unlike Grif, Simmons wasn't too happy about coming to that realisation. He didn’t know how to relax here either, but he wasn’t going to give in and ask for Grif's help the way Carolina had.

Grif wouldn’t have any issue telling him to fuck off and, after everything that had happened between them, Simmons really wasn’t too interested to push his luck.

“...I have been studying Esperanto though, maybe Lopez has something to add to this... Could be fun, to finally understand him. For his sake too.”

The normalcy of the moon was truly beginning to get to him in a whole different way as the weeks passed by, Simmons thought with a sigh. It was becoming clear that without Sarge's insane plans to occupy him, he was getting close to losing it all over again - with or without Grif's company.

And the worst part of it was how Grif had been right about him in that regard as well: Simmons found himself almost preferring the war over whatever this was they now had. Maybe he should have stopped Washington from confiscating the Red Team’s flag, erect it himself –

“Could go for a ride”, Grif said suddenly, sitting up with speed that made Simmons open his eyes in surprise. “Been meaning to for a while now but Sarge’s been keeping tabs on the Warthog.”

Simmons snorted. “So what, you need help stealing it from him or something?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Not interested.”

“Nah, he’s beginning to lose focus so it’s easy enough. Just saying, it would be a hell of a lot better to go for a ride than sit around in this heat.”

“I guess…”

Grif stood up slowly and stretched his back, turning to leave the hillside. Before he went to walk away though, he glanced down to Simmons who hadn't made a move to follow.

Grif raised an eyebrow, nodding towards the way he was heading when Simmons finally looked up at him questioningly.

“You coming or what?”

 

* * *

 

Getting to the Warthog and driving off without being noticed really had been easy.

As they raced through the barren hills as fast as they could, the breeze the speed offered turned out to be an honest-to-god blessing against Simmons’ skin, and Grif seemed just as pleased as they then began to search through the areas by the lakes no one in their group had ever been to before.

There was nothing to say and that worked more than well for today, the scenery flashing by all they needed as they sped onward.

Simmons couldn’t stop the grin making its way to his face when Grif glanced at him with a similar look of his own, and it was then Simmons came to think of this day as one of the greatest he had had since their retreat first began.

The best and worst part of leaving it all behind: no responsibilities meant there was no need to hurry back, it just takes some time to see and fully accept both of those sides.

Even almost a year on the moon wasn't going to be long enough for Simmons to get quite that far though, but it didn't stop Grif from trying.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Grif appeared with a challenge that Simmons was sure to decline. No way was he going to race Grif with the other Warthog, he wasn’t that big of an idiot even with how far he was willing to go to defend his unique driving style.

Thankfully, Grif found someone else to compete against fast enough, Tucker jumping in the Blue Team’s Warthog and driving off to the horizon without any coaxing needed.

Grif went to drive after him but just as suddenly hit the brakes, inviting Simmons to come along even if it gave him no advantage over the Blue, quite the opposite really – but it was an offer Simmons didn’t turn down with logic.

Anything was better than staying behind, but there was also no denying that driving had become one of Simmons' favourite options on how to spend his free time here. With that in mind, racing to the depths of the land began as something enjoyable.

Grif proved his skill by overtaking Tucker easily enough, the three of them stopping to take a break on a clearing soon after. Simmons sat alone in the Red Team's Warthog and listened to the bickering that followed, Tucker throwing around complaints and excuses after his head-start had failed him.

A moment later, the cyborg heard the soft flutter of branches somewhere behind him and turned around by instinct.

The other half of their day was less about relaxing and more about running for their lives, the group finding out the forest beyond the cliffs wasn’t as empty of life as they had assumed it to be for ages now.

Kimball hadn't warned them about this one.

Having to leave the two Warthogs behind, the three ran back to their bases screaming as the dinosaurs chased after them.

 


	4. Peace vs. Famine

The dinosaurs offered unexpected challenges.

Holding back Sarge who tried to throw himself at the creatures was the hardest part of it all at first, and that worked as yet another reminder on how Simmons was really beginning to regret not letting Grif’s original plan to distract him work its magic.

Later, their problems became even bigger with the added difficulty setting of keeping Caboose in check as well, after the Blue found out about the dinosaurs he really, really wanted to meet. This battle of wits ended with Caboose proving himself perfectly capable of sneaking off and getting what he wanted behind everyone's backs, showing the group just why that was the preferred course of action over their original plans of defence.

It didn't take long for Caboose make peace with the dinosaurs and save their small colony as he did, although Simmons was pretty sure the entire situation made absolutely no sense whatsoever - if only the peace talks at Chorus had been just as easy to handle.

But really, there was no point to complaining about the details now that the entire group had lived through the dino crisis, against all odds.

Instead, the actual problem they were left to face was that, while the others had been distracted with the almost-war with carnivorous reptiles, Donut had been left on his own by the bases.

With the said bases having gone up in flames, their rations being cut to less than half of what there used to be and the threat of pissing off the dinosaurs they had apparently just made some kind of an “arrangement” with, finding new sources of food became a whole different matter.

And for some of them it was also an issue on another level entirely, Simmons thought back with a heavy sigh that was always, for some reason, closely followed by a small chuckle.

 

* * *

 

“Why can’t we just eat the dinosaurs? Circle of life and all that shit!”

“Just a few days ago you were screaming about being eaten yourself... And you seriously want to make them mad at us again? No way, Grif! We are not going after them!”

Grif crossed his arms and glared at the door blocking them from the last of their rations. Immediately after the fire, the two Freelancers had taken care of rearranging, and locking away, what little was left of them.

They needed to prepare for what was to come, gathering more food long before it could even become a serious problem.

“Hunting for food... Seriously, how did it come to this! Aren’t we war-heroes by now!?” Grif exclaimed in annoyance, finally walking off with Simmons following close behind.

“Maybe no hunting, I’d prefer for us to avoid the forest after we are done with this mission... Fishing? Farming?”

“ _Farming_?!”

“...What’s your problem with that? A lot can be done with farming, maybe you _should_ try it out”, Simmons threw right back at him, which only managed to get Grif to sigh in what sounded like something Simmons would categorize as betrayal.

“Let’s just... go get the Warthogs back. Maybe we will find something on the way”, Grif said after a while as he looked away, picking up speed.

“You know we aren’t in trouble yet, Wash and Carolina aren’t exactly starving you or anything...” Simmons pointed out as they finally joined the others to begin their long walk back to the vehicles they had left behind days ago, armed to the teeth in case the dinosaurs were to attack after all.

Grif simply huffed as a reply, the rest of their trek passing in a relative sense of silence as everyone kept watch on the forest line. Caboose and mini-Freckles led them onward, along with a small raptor that seemed to have imprinted on the Blue during their short time together.

No one dared to complain about that one, unless you counted Sarge who was becoming more and more restless with each passing week of peace. He had been very disappointed with the way the dinosaur-situation had ended, and that was exactly why the team had Donut distract him back by the somewhat-reconstructed bases for the length of their current mission.

Leaving the two of them behind was their safeguard against a just-because shootout with the reptiles. And honestly, what's the worst that could happen?

It’s not like Donut had much left to destroy, meaning that the risks were low.

"...Maybe we shouldn't have left Sarge and Donut behind", Simmons ended up saying out loud just as that previous thought crossed his mind. "What if Sarge... makes traps or something? Mines everywhere..."

“What the hell kind of a visual is that supposed to be?" Grif replied with a frown, the bewilderment so easy to hear from his voice that it made Simmons flush in embarrassment. "You doing okay?"

"I don't know!" Simmons snapped defensively. "I am just... You are the one who -!"

"Right..." Grif interrupted, nodding his head slightly and turning to face Simmons. "Told you so."

"Huh?" 

"About how he needs something to fight”, Grif elaborated, the smirk on his face audible and making Simmons glare his way.

"Thought it was ' _something to protect_ '", Simmons said in annoyance, but Grif simply shrugged and replied with: 

"Pretty sure I'd know."

Simmons didn't feel like arguing about that one, although there was no denying Grif's words from that day had stuck with him more than well.

 

* * *

 

The adventure to get the Warthogs back ended without a hitch and Caboose made ton of new friends along the way, only to disappear a few days later.

Enough time passed for the group to think that he had actually been eaten by something or other, but thankfully, just before they could commence their grieving, they received a sign from the great beyond – _the dark place_.

It didn't take that much input from the others before Caboose made his sudden return as happy as ever, everyone relieved especially when the dinosaurs seemed to be immediately calmed down by his presence.

For a moment there, Sarge had been itching to challenge them in the rising tension.

“I wonder what he saw...” Simmons said as he and Grif stood by the Warthog and watched Caboose run around with mini-Freckles and three raptors in tow, the number of lifeforms following after him seeming to increase with each passing day.

It wasn't that comforting of a view.

“If the only descriptive words you get out of Caboose literally stick to ‘it was dark and neat’, I don’t think there was much there”, Grif replied casually, jumping in the Warthog. “But feel free to give it a try, I am sure you would find some nerdy solution to get back in there if you so wished to.”

“Right...” Simmons said quietly, flinching as one of the raptors behind Caboose halted and spun its head around to stare at the two of them with its piercing eyes. "I think I will pass..."

With that said, and the mystery of the dark place left unsolved, Simmons climbed in the Warthog to get on with their daily routine of just driving away from it all.

 


	5. Conclusions vs. Consequences

As a belated “apology” for the fire-incident, which he still declined most responsibility for, Donut arranged a showy dinner for the entire group.

Simmons couldn’t help but to be kind of impressed by Donut using the damage he had done to host his dream event, especially with the added expectation that they were all supposed to participate. It was also notable how the leftover rations allowed Donut full usage of his creativity as he prepared the tiniest of dishes and appetisers without crossing the strict limitations Carolina maintained for his new pet project.

In the end, Simmons had to - _begrudgingly_ \- admit that the evening had been enjoyable.

Donut was an excellent cook, even without many ingredients to work with, and the chance to take a break was much appreciated, even if no one was going to say that one out loud in too many words. The last thing they wanted was to encourage the lightish-red soldier to repeat the scenario, especially when his bad taste over the tragedy of his own design was further proven by the scented candles he insisted to have around for the party held by the remains of their two lost bases.

Grif, more than anyone, had been glaring at the sticks of wax with such vehemence the entirety of the evening that Simmons had been half prepared for the day to end with a fight and even more fire.

 

* * *

 

The dinosaurs continued to cause confusion.

Or they did, just long enough for the moon to be filled with movie plots and terrible music, closely followed by a short-lived waterpark. Grif’s anger over the last one especially had been a spectacular sight at the time, but Simmons was glad to see it die down fast - in appearances, at least.

They had other things to worry about.

In the aftermath of everything, and while Grif and Tucker had been busy avoiding their own band and Carolina under the guise of a long-winded argument over its name, Sarge was finally finished with his plan. Ever since he had been told to leave the dinosaurs alone, he had known he needed to change his approach: he was going to create his own enemy.

But, then again, the idea wasn’t exactly his own.

It had always bothered Simmons how Grif hadn't seemed to care about his original plan failing when he had first returned from wherever he had gone to wait for it all to kick off, but at least he had later learned that the tan man hadn't just forgotten about it either. The surprise there turned out to be that instead of Grif trying out anything similar again, it was Washington who had taken the next step.

Simmons learned later that it was actually Washington who had first begun to collect the scrap metal left from building, and rebuilding, the bases - and the since destroyed waterpark as well - to come up with a premeditated solution to Sarge's boredom, hoping it would benefit them all. The idea itself must have come from the Red Flag Simmons assumed to have long since been burned to a crisp, Grif foreseeing the exact same issue approaching the moment Sarge proved himself unable to settle down.

The Freelancer hadn't asked for anyone’s help on his research and it was by accident Simmons heard him curse about it when the robot army was finally finished and charged off, once more proving Wash that Sarge’s ability to make even sabotaged equipment deadly enough to kill a bunch of dinosaurs truly was a talent to fear.

Wash’s aim had apparently been to help Sarge make a bunch of robotic targets to blow up without any risk of damages to either property or person, but now the dinosaurs were dead. And, with that in mind, Simmons was once again send back to the side of relief over never finding out how Grif’s artificial “Red versus Blue" -war would have worked out.

Better them than us, Simmons thought as the group watched the last stages of the carnage unfold - and Wash seemed to agree, his previously sullen mood having quickly been won over by the spectacle he had had a hand in creating. The only one disappointed by the turn of events seemed to be Sarge himself, his complaints having finally fallen silent to actually watch the scene.

Unable to not sigh at the sight of his commanding officer standing there with his fists clenched, Simmons immediately found himself thinking it was only a matter of time before someone else tried their hand at finding Sarge something to do. But he was determined to stay out of it: remaining alive for long enough to see the results seemed interesting enough.

And with the last dinosaurs sprinting towards the robots that were already about to collapse, Simmons couldn’t stop himself from smirking as he put two and two together and turned to face Grif.

“Seems you were right...”

Grif blinked slowly, barely able to pull his gaze from the bloodshed to look at Simmons in confusion. “Huh?”

“Circle of life – you are going to get to eat those dinosaurs after all.”

“Oh...” Grif grimaced, turning back to the mess of guts and leaking robotics. The sparking leftovers, smoke and the stench of burning flesh that followed were the very opposite of appetising. “Great...”

“That’s it?”

“...I’m coming down from the mushrooms, give me a break.”

“Right. I still can’t believe you would do something as stupid as to –“

“Simmons?”

“– yeah?”

“ _Shut up_.”

Simmons didn’t make any attempts to stop his grin from growing even wider, turning back to see the last dinosaur fall.

“If you say so, fatass.”

 


	6. Red vs. Nothing

“Have you seen Donut?”

“...Is that a trick question?” Grif asked slowly, opening one eye in disdain over the distraction to his lazing around. Simmons didn't glance his way, instead looking around in search of the colour pink.

“Not exactly”, Simmons replied after a moment, sighing when Donut was no where to be found. “Sarge has something he wants to say to us...”

“If you are going to tell me to get up –“

“Not yet, no. If I can’t find Donut...”

“...there’s no reason to go to the meeting. Gotcha. You avoiding Sarge or something?”

“Not exactly...” Simmons repeated his earlier words but now with a frown, looking down to Grif. “I just... I know he won’t have anything worthwhile to say, no need to hurry over...”

“What a development, Dick! Told you so.”

“What?”

“It’s best to have him be all predictable, per normal.”

Grif smirked up at him and Simmons’ frown deepened.

“That _again_? It’s been forever since then, months! And honestly? Without Wash tearing down your flag, he wouldn’t have been there to ensure a robot army was on the way just in time to get rid of the dinosaurs... Who knows how long that 'peace' was going to last otherwise?”

“Philosophical thinking, Simmons – my actions seem to have saved us all”, Grif chuckled lazily, closing his eye again to get comfortable. “Also, Wash was the one who took it down? And was behind the robots, what?”

“Yeah..." Simmons mumbled, a little annoyed Grif had never put any attempt into figuring these things out himself. "You freaked him out with it, but I guess he agreed with the sentiment you were going for and chose to help Sarge out with that crazy idea. Although it did backfire... But in a good way, I suppose.”

“Aha, genius. And you helped with the flag, never forget”, Grif hummed as a reply. “But to answer your question: I did see Donut earlier. Wish I hadn’t.”

“...By the beach?”

“Yup.”

Simmons shuddered at the mental image and sat down on the grass. “Guess Sarge can wait a little longer...”

 

* * *

 

With pointless talk being their leading strength, it wasn’t that odd to have Sarge call in meetings that involved him stating his frustrations.

After almost a year on the moon, it had become a routine Simmons, Lopez and Donut had grown used to participating in even without anything to gain from doing so. Of course, they had already gotten used to it way earlier in their lives as members of the Red Army, but the difference here was how lost Sarge had become with the fighting over.

You knew it was all wrong when the Colonel didn’t even bother with hunting down Grif whenever he didn’t show up when called. Which was often, but for some reason not today.

After Donut had finally made his appearance earlier, Simmons had surprisingly had no issue getting Grif to follow them to the meeting, although the man had smirked before briefly repeating Simmons' earlier point on how there really was no need to do so.

Soon after Sarge began to talk, Simmons learned there was a good reason for why Grif had seemed so pleased with himself when he had said that line - and he was obviously feeling the same here, standing by the others with the helmet barely hiding the way he snickered under his breath.

“I can’t believe you... _”_   Simmons whispered, in terror more than anything when he finally realised what was happening in front of him.

“Told you...” Grif’s grin was apparent from his voice, no helmet able to hide it away either, and Simmons really had quickly grown to hate the combinations of those two words.

Although he supposed Grif's earlier mention that they could both just stay away from Sarge might have counted as a warning.

How lovely.

Sarge's voice was filled with all the energy it had lacked for a long time now, his words making even less sense than before: “If we don’t start standing up to our mortal foe gravity, by god – _who will_?”

Grif's grin over igniting this battle was quickly wiped from his face when he watched the Warthog fall from the cliff and be brought back overtaken by the now all-too-familiar flames. But at least the war in question would hold Sarge’s attention until the end of their stay and, as the days passed, Simmons was one of the many who found himself thankful for it.

Even Washington seemed to agree as he monitored Sarge's new obsession from the sidelines, and that and more allowed Simmons to keep out of it entirely.

Unlike Grif, who had kept a close eye on him since the beginning of their retreat, Simmons didn't even realise when exactly his need to please had lost its position as one of his main motivators.

 

* * *

 

Pointless banter became even more important and acknowledged among the group later, through the voting success that was malarkey. However, considering how late in their stay on the moon that one took place, it wasn't something they had long to celebrate.

Some time later, soon after Dylan Andrews' appearance and when he already sat in a ship on their way to save what was apparently left of Church, Simmons obsessively thought over two things:

What is it like to live under a government based on talking when you are the only one left to uphold it?

And did Grif learn to regret the little effort he put into helping Sarge when it now meant he was on his own, not even an intact Warthog left on the dead moon with him?

With no answers to be found, and still unable to drop the train of thought no matter how hard he tried, Simmons' mind began to run deeper into the specifics of the latter question especially. It had always bothered him, after all.

Had Grif's ' _plans_ ' even been intended as help? Had it simply been Grif's way to find some entertainment? What had he been trying to achieve? Safety, he said? Safety in knowing what's coming... He had said that the moon wasn't his idea of a paradise, but it was still so much better than the continuous fighting. He had finally been allowed to take it easy and had relished it, obviously!

But then what?

Had Grif, in the end, been just as lost as Sarge without something to do? In need of a distraction... 

Wasn't Simmons supposed to be the one to feel that way? He had been at first, hadn't he? Grif even said as much, and wasn't that the reason Simmons had "helped him" with the Red Flag?

But, very soon after that, Simmons had -

He closed his eyes as he rested back in his seat, doing his best to deny that he already missed the routines that had followed the very first days on the moon. And the worst part was how Simmons couldn't even bring himself to imagine what it must be like for Grif, left without company and unable to drive.

He remembered clearly how quickly he had felt like losing his mind without those two things, the drives with the Warthog having become something akin to a lifeline. Grif had been the answer to both of those problems, he had helped Simmons relax without having to be asked.

Simmons hadn't needed Sarge's input in the end, although that had almost happened first: with the flag and -

_"Told you."_

His breath hitched, Simmons' hands turning to fists by his side. It was no use to think about it. Nothing could be gained from doing so.

_"Better enjoy it while it lasts."_

Not here, not now - far away from the moon.

 


	7. Reacts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll start with this: thank you for reading! <3

_"I don't like you."_

For some people, saying you don't care is easy. Someone else can always take the responsibility if they so wished to.

It was a common enough occurrence among the Reds and Blues, and the only reaction Simmons had allowed himself was the silence as he stared after Grif’s retreating back. There had been no more insults, no questions - the routines had simply snapped then and there. 

And that's how it should have been.

_"Any of you."_

In his head, Simmons no doubt declined the possibility he understood the choice Grif had made, declined that his words had hurt or that there would have been any reason for him to have lied about how he felt. After a while, he would probably realise that Grif's words were as if designed to hit him, to make him shut his mouth, but by then it had already worked well enough.

Simmons would then immediately find himself attempting to forget every line and every look that had passed between them until that one last moment. He would deny the chance that that was exactly what Grif had wanted him to try - _and fail_ \- to do.

For some people, it's easy.

_"But we have all known each other long enough that you should hear it from me first."_

The moon was different and had offered them something entirely new. But it didn't heal any wounds, it only left it all to build up further as they stumbled in their attempts to learn what it meant to no longer be a soldier.

Most of them didn't take it too well, for differing reasons, although some hid it better than others. It might have ended differently if you had actually been able to talk about it before it was too late but, for a group who seemed to do that all too much otherwise, you really sucked at it when it actually mattered.

It's way easier to turn around and move when you think you’re leaving nothing behind.

Nothing that matters, anyway.

_"I am done."_

 

* * *

 

Grif didn't try to voice his argument any further, he didn’t even show up once for the rest of the time it took for the others to pack and prepare for their new mission. They didn't come after him either so there really wasn't any reason for him to do anything more about it.

Only during the wait did Grif find himself wondering if Simmons ever even noticed, or tried to find out, exactly where he had disappeared to any of the times he hid away during the year. The nerd had never come looking, surely, as it shouldn't have been that difficult to locate the cave considering that he never took the Warthogs on those days, which he now no longer could anyway.

And, apparently, it had been easy enough for the reporter to find him right after her appearance, just to ruin his life that little bit further.

Simmons hadn't bothered, then. Good.

And so, with the two ships set out to fly away in a few more minutes, Grif stood in the distance only to watch as Simmons glanced back at the moon for one last time. A part of him believed he would never see the others again, for better or for worse, but it was hard to find comfort in the idea when Grif could have sworn he saw Simmons flinch as he abruptly turned to enter the ship.

Grif didn't move an inch until he had seen the ships fly off.

Simmons had probably hoped not to see him again. He wasn’t leaving anything behind, just like Grif wasn't losing anything by letting him - _them_ \- go.

 

* * *

 

In his mind, whenever he couldn't sleep, Grif could still hear the way Sarge had called after him when he had first walked away. He had found it odd then, after months of Sarge mostly letting him do as he wished.

Grif bit his lip, wondering if Sarge knew why he had told him it was gravity that was holding him back from the meetings when he had finally been asked to explain himself. He had taken to the words strongly enough, at that point all too willing to try anything to distract himself.

It hadn't just been a relief for Sarge and the others around him when this new war took his focus, it had also proven Grif right about Simmons. A little too late perhaps, but still.

The moon was never meant to be "home" but for a moment it had been as close to one as it ever could be. And now it was just as empty as the one Grif had long since left behind.

 

* * *

 

The first version of the events Grif built to occupy himself in the vast space left for him was all about the others.

The separation began with the denied ideal, the worst-case scenario - Grif's mind was unsure which way around exactly it would be better for him, or them - where it did not take long for Simmons to feel like he was drowning as everyone around him began to pick up their roles and adapt in search for their next course of action.

But this time it was as if Grif had never even existed in the first place.

No matter how many times Simmons might mention him in the passing, or make jokes no one was there to catch, Grif couldn't be there like he had been a year ago, ready to reply and make it all go back to the way it used to be.

But Simmons wasn’t alone with the others around, not in the same way as Grif was on the moon. Here, he couldn't easily replace what was missing with something else like the cyborg could. 

Grif figured it wouldn't take long for Simmons to attempt to focus on the mission he was given, go back to how he had once been. He would probably be relieved in the end, to finally have some actual, real work to fully focus on - no Grif around to distract him any further.

After that, it got complicated: many failed versions of past and future events followed, to cover for all the things that had gone wrong in Grif's life.

It didn't take long for the actual worst-case scenarios to leave him lost and numb in the midst of the peace, the silence, the wrecked Warthogs and the piles of trash that were everything he had to work with now.

 

* * *

 

In an underwater lair, somewhere far away still, Simmons was finally given the time that forced him to continue the process to figure it all out. It didn't change the fact that he couldn't exactly do anything about it now, but it was still something to admit that Grif had had every right to be disappointed in him.

A year on the moon should have been plenty enough time to see through the reasoning, and "regret" wasn't a strong enough word to describe just how Simmons found himself feeling. 

It wasn't meant to be easy, not with the two of them.

 


End file.
